


would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?

by spilled_notes



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Holby City
Genre: AU: Discworld, Assassins, Berena Appreciation Week, Day Four, F/F, Slow Burn, everyone wears black and the lizard gets his just desserts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 09:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15704667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spilled_notes/pseuds/spilled_notes
Summary: After an injury sustained while completing a contract puts her out of action for a while, successful and highly respected Assassin Bernie Wolfe is persuaded to return to the Guild in Ankh-Morpork to pass her expertise on to the next generation. The Political Expediency tutor intrigues her from the moment she sets eyes on her, an unexpected flash of colour amid all the black. But Serena McKinnie turns out to be not quite what she appears. Life at the Guild is full of surprises – and not just of the traps and deadfalls variety.





	would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?

**Author's Note:**

> Finally I've got round to writing the full fic [this snippet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12373062/chapters/28802175) comes from! Title from You Took the Words right Out of My Mouth (Meat Loaf).

Bernie jogs down the last flight of stairs and pauses in front of the heavy wooden doors. She can hear the sounds of arrivals day in the courtyard on the other side, feels nerves and anticipation fizz through her veins and takes a deep breath. With steady hands she smooths down her starling-wing-black robes and straightens her purple teaching sash, and she smiles: who’d have thought she’d be back here as a tutor, thirty years after leaving as a student?

One last breath, and she pushes the door open. The conversations and the hubbub flow over her as she strides into the courtyard, slipping easily between knots of students and parents. They aren’t all boys now, although the boys still easily outnumber the girls, and Bernie feels a thrill of pride at having been the first, the one who paved the way for the Guild accepting female students. As she looks around her eye catches on the sashes of her fellow tutors. And then it catches on a blue shirt, vivid cobalt amid the sea of blacks. It wouldn’t be shocking – few of the parents of their new intake are wearing black, after all. Only over the blue shirt is a purple teaching sash, identical to hers.

The figure turns and Bernie sees that it’s another woman, around her own age if she had to guess. Which begs the question, who is she? Because she can’t be an alumna of the guild, there are _no_ female alumnae of their age other than Bernie herself.

‘Ms Wolfe.’

She’s broken from her consideration of the woman by Mr Hanssen, President of the Guild and the man who had engineered her employment here, silently appearing at her shoulder. Silent appearing is stock in trade for all Assassins if they want to avoid being inhumed, of course, but Hanssen seems to somehow take it to another level, through silence and out the other side. Bernie betrays no sign of surprise though, remains perfectly still apart from shifting her gaze to her new boss.

‘Mr Hanssen,’ she says levelly.

‘It’s a pleasure to welcome you to the faculty. I trust your quarters are to your liking?’

‘They are,’ she replies, inclining her head slightly.

‘Excellent. Please do mingle and greet the students along with your new colleagues. It will do the girls in particular good to see another woman on the teaching staff this year.’

Bernie glances back across the courtyard at the woman in blue, now animatedly talking to a group of girls who all look to be hanging off her every word. ‘Yes, about that. Who is–’

But Hanssen has already gone, slipping away like a shadow to loom over someone else. Bernie’s curiosity will have to go unsated for now. She busies herself drifting through the crowd, shaking hands with other tutors as they pass and smiling at students new and returning, introducing herself so many times that the strangeness of the word ‘tutor’ on her tongue after her name all but vanishes. But her eyes and mind keep straying to the other woman, and Bernie desperately hopes she’ll have the chance to meet her today, before term starts properly, before she needs all her focus to face this new challenge head on.

Somehow, in all the chaos of parent-child goodbyes and getting all the students inside and to the right places, Bernie loses sight of the mystery woman. Once her duties are complete for now she slips into her classroom to check that everything is in order ready for her first lessons tomorrow, and then into her quarters to freshen up before dinner.

When she walks into the hall she has to keep her feet from automatically taking her to the student tables, instead walks an unfamiliar path to the end of the room to take her place among the other staff. She’s so caught up in studying the room from this new perspective that she only half notices the chair beside her being drawn out and someone sitting down.

‘You must be Berenice Wolfe.’

Bernie turns so sharply her hair whips about her cheeks, finds herself face to face with the woman she’s been so curious about.

‘I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,’ she continues. ‘High time we had another woman on the faculty.’

‘I’m sorry, do we know each other?’ Bernie frowns.

The woman laughs, a joyous sound that makes her eyes sparkle. ‘I haven’t had the pleasure, but I’ve heard a lot about you. Serena McKinnie, Political Expediency and Mistress of Raven House.’

She doesn’t offer Bernie her hand, merely inclines her head and holds her gaze; Bernie does the same in return.

‘Henrik was very pleased to engage you,’ Serena continues, pouring red wine from the carafe into her glass and looking towards Bernie’s in question, filling it too when Bernie nods. ‘You have quite a reputation.’

Bernie blushes slightly but keeps her head held high; after so long working away from Ankh-Morpork and the Guild it’s a little strange to be praised like this but she’s proud of her inhumation record, knows how good she is at what she does. ‘I only hope I can transfer my skills to the classroom.’

‘Well if Henrik believes you’re the right person for the job then I’m sure you’ll be just fine. A little advice, if I may?’

‘I need all the help I can get.’

‘They’ll try and get away with anything,’ Serena says, casting her gaze towards the students filling the hall. ‘Especially with a new tutor. Don’t let them. Don’t try to be their friend, don’t be lenient with them. Although I can’t imagine you’re going to have too many problems. Your inhumation record is practically the stuff of legend around here. If you’re lucky they’ll all be terrified or in awe of you.’

‘I’d rather they weren’t terrified,’ Bernie replies. ‘I was terrified of one of my tutors and didn’t do that well in his classes.’

‘A little bit of awe never did anyone any harm, though,’ Serena says with a wink.

A scuffle between some of the older students at the table closest to them catches both their attention, and when it begins to escalate Serena half rises from her seat.

‘Miss Burrows,’ she calls, her voice measured and sweet but clearly brooking no argument, one eyebrow raised. ‘You know very well that I expect better than this from Raven House.’

‘Sorry Ms McKinnie,’ the girl says, she and the others instantly sitting quietly.

‘Don’t be sorry, be better,’ Serena says with the slightest hint of a smile.

‘Yes, Ms MicKinnie.’

Serena picks up her wine glass and takes a sip, but Bernie watches the students for a moment longer. There’s no sign of the disagreement continuing, and while some of the students at the table are quietly talking others are gazing at Serena.

‘Well if I can manage to be even half as effective as that, I’ll be doing well,’ Bernie says, turning back to Serena and smiling. ‘You must be doing something right for them to respect you that much.’

Serena smiles in return. ‘So many first years come into my class full of disdain because I don’t teach them how to inhume, or how to climb, or anything flashy or exciting or physical. And until this year I was their only female tutor. They often underestimate me and think I’m going to be a soft touch.’

‘How long does it take them to realise their mistake?’ Bernie asks.

‘Oh, not long at all,’ Serena replies, her eyes sparkling. ‘Words can be just as cutting as a knife after all, as long as you choose the right ones.’

‘I’m going to admit now that Political Expediency wasn’t my strong suit. Words in general have never been my strong suit, actually.’

‘More of an action woman, are you?’ Serena smiles. ‘Well, nothing wrong with that.’

There’s a rich, warm tone to her voice and something in her eyes that makes Bernie blush, makes her stomach swoop and her heart flutter. She’s glad of the arrival of dinner, glad of the excuse to drop her gaze to her plate even if she does have to fight to keep herself from stealing glances at Serena. Out of the corner of her eye she can see her hands, elegant fingers tipped with perfectly manicured nails delicately holding her cutlery as she eats.

They’re both drawn into conversations with the tutors sitting either side of them, don’t have chance to say another word to each other until the students have been dismissed and they rise to leave, Bernie to head back to her quarters and Serena to settle the new Raven House students.

‘Goodnight, Ms Wolfe,’ Serena says, one hand lightly brushing Bernie’s arm, fingers pale on the black silk of her shirt.

‘Goodnight, Ms McKinnie,’ Bernie replies, a smile catching the edges of her lips.

‘I have a feeling this is going to be a very good year,’ Serena adds with a smile, and Bernie can’t help but agree.

*          *          *

Every year, Serena somehow forgets just how exhausting the first day of term is. As soon as the door closes behind her last class, rabbling their way out into the corridor, she sinks into her chair and slips her complaining feet from her heels, presses her fingers into her temples and massages tiny circles to try and ward off the headache she can feel threatening.

And then on the other side of the wall, behind the blackboard, she hears the quiet creak of footsteps on old floorboards. Bernie has the neighbouring classroom – for her theory lessons, at least – and from the sound of it she’s pacing. So Serena puts her shoes back on and heads down the corridor to the little staff kitchen, makes a pot of tea and finds two cups then taps on Bernie’s door before pushing it open.

Bernie is standing in front of the window, her eyes wide and her frame tense.

‘Cup of tea,’ Serena says pointlessly, crossing to place the tray on Bernie’s desk and pouring for them both.

Bernie doesn’t move, even as Serena pulls up a chair and makes herself comfortable, kicking off her shoes again with a relieved groan. When she glances back over Bernie is eyeing her suspiciously, gaze flicking back and forth between her and the teapot.

‘And what, pray, would I gain from offing you, hm?’ Serena asks, smiling, reaching for her cup and taking a sip.

Bernie’s lack of trust doesn’t hurt, doesn’t surprise her; Assassins are by nature a suspicious lot, she’s had ample experience of that. Yet when Bernie finally sits opposite her and picks up her cup, her eyes fluttering closed as she takes her first sip, Serena’s heart swells.

*

They don’t meet for tea every day – the busyness of term hardly allows for that – but Serena makes a point of trying to knock on Bernie’s classroom door at least once a week, makes a point of sitting beside her for meals as often as she can. Because Bernie may be quiet and taciturn where Serena is bright and talkative, but Serena finds her company preferable to that of their fellow tutors, even Ric Griffin who she’s known for well over a decade and who is among the small cluster of people she would count as friends. Bernie is still reticent but she doesn’t seem to mind Serena’s company, doesn’t seem to resent her presence in her classroom at the end of a long day or in the next chair at the dining table, even at breakfast before either has had their first cup of coffee.

A month or so into term, Serena walks into the dining hall still bleary with sleep; two of the first years in Raven House got into a spat last night, and she had to spend far too long soothing both parties and encouraging them to talk to each other and to her so they could find a solution, and her sleep suffered as a result. She yawns as she sinks into her usual chair, her eyes widening in surprise when she realises there’s a mug of coffee already waiting for her.

‘Thought I might have to come and find you. I was worried your first class might be subjected to a caffeine-less Ms McKinnie,’ Bernie teases.

Serena smiles at her gratefully, inhales deeply and takes a sip. ‘Strong and hot,’ she says approvingly.

‘Just the way you like it,’ Bernie says quietly, her eyes shining behind her fringe.

‘Thank you,’ Serena says earnestly.

‘You’re very welcome,’ Bernie smiles, holding her gaze for a moment before returning her attention to her toast and marmalade.

*

One evening the following week, Serena is in the middle of marking a stack of fourth year essays when there’s a tap on her door.

‘Yes?’ she calls.

She looks up when the door is pushed open to see Bernie slowly walk in, her gait uneven and pain lining her eyes.

‘Bernie,’ she says, jumping up and ushering her into a chair. ‘What happened?’

‘I was checking a climb for the fifth years, got up with no problems and then must have tweaked my injury on the way down, lost my grip and landed awkwardly.’ She rolls her shoulders and grimaces, a hiss of pain escaping.

‘You should go to the sanatorium, let Sacha take a look,’ Serena suggests, her eyes narrowed in concern. She has to fight to keep her hands from Bernie, toys with her pendant instead of reaching for her as she wants to.

‘I’ll be fine,’ Bernie shakes her head, even as the movement causes another hiss.

Serena rolls her eyes. ‘Io save us from stubborn, macho Assassins. Will you at least let me take a look?’

‘Oh no, Serena, I couldn’t ask–’

‘You’re not asking, I’m offering. Please, Bernie?’ she asks, softer now. ‘Let me help you?’

Bernie meets her eye, holds it far longer than she usually does, and then nods. So Serena carefully slips the jacket from her shoulders, murmuring an apology when Bernie lets out a grunt of pain. And then she places her hands on Bernie’s back, between her shoulder blades, holds them there for a moment as Bernie’s warmth seeps through her shirt before slowly beginning to rub the tight muscles, her thumbs seeking out and easing the knots that have formed.

‘There,’ she murmurs eventually, long after she really could have stopped, her hands resting lightly on Bernie’s shoulders.

Bernie hums contentedly, tips her head back with no complaint from her body to smile up at Serena, and Serena thinks she’s never seen her look so happy, so soft, so unguarded. ‘Thank you,’ she says quietly.

‘Any time,’ Serena replies. ‘But be careful, won’t you,’ she adds, squeezing gently.

‘Not becoming fond of me are you, McKinnie?’ Bernie teases, her eyes sparkling.

‘Never,’ Serena teases back. ‘And if I hear any rumours to the contrary I will fervently deny them.’

Bernie laughs at this – the first time she’s ever heard her laugh, Serena realises – and reaches to touch Serena’s hand. It’s the lightest touch, over in a heartbeat, so fleeting that Serena wonders if it even really happened. But the skin there tingles and burns so hot Serena’s almost surprised that it isn’t glowing, tingles and burns long after they’ve parted and Bernie has left the room, right up until the moment Serena falls asleep.

*          *          *

By the end of Sektober Bernie feels like she’s beginning to settle in at the Guild. After a rocky start her classes are all running smoothly – and Serena was right, all but the first years had heard of her, were in awe of her record, leading to much wasted time at the start of term dealing with all their questions. She’s reacquainted herself with the rooftops of Ankh-Morpork, even with her niggling injury can manage most of  the routes and climbs she remembers from her youth; nowhere she’s lived since has quite the wealth of edificeering challenges the twin cities have to offer and it’s a joy to be able to test herself here again, to stretch herself.

And she’s become used to the sound of Serena’s classes in the next room, the quiet of concentration and the soft buzz of conversation and the hum of Serena’s voice, muffled too much by the thick stone walls for her to be able to make out a single word but there nonetheless. Until the chilly Friday after Soul Cake Tuesday.

Serena walks into the dining hall for breakfast with bleary eyes, croaks out thanks as Bernie pours her coffee and then promptly sneezes.

‘Bless you,’ Bernie says automatically.

Serena blows her nose, reaches for her coffee and grumbles when she can’t inhale the rich, invigorating scent like she usually does.

‘So you’re not immune, then?’ Bernie teases gently.

There’s been a nasty cold going around the Guild over the past couple of weeks. Most of the students and half of the faculty have had it; apart from a few sniffles they thought it has passed by now but apparently not, if Serena’s slightly bloodshot eyes and red nose are anything to go by.

Serena huffs a mirthless laugh and butters a slice of toast, nibbling at the corner and coughing when the crumbs tickle her throat. Bernie thumps her back gently, hand lingering and rubbing soothingly when the fit passes.

It’s odd to have breakfast without Serena’s voice in her ear, and Bernie keeps shooting worried glances at her as they both eat and finish their coffee.

‘Are you sure you should be teaching?’ Bernie frowns when they rise to leave.

‘I’m fine, Bernie,’ Serena says hoarsely. ‘It’s just a cold, it’ll take more than that to put me out of action.’

‘Ok,’ Bernie says reluctantly. ‘If you need anyone shouting at, you know where I am.’

‘I do,’ Serena smiles, her hand resting on Bernie’s arm for a moment.

Serena’s been doing that more and more recently, touching her: a bump of their shoulders if they happen to be walking beside each other down a corridor, a hand on her arm, a lingering brush of their fingers when she passes coffee or wine. It usually bothers Bernie, would bother her if it were anyone else. But it’s Serena – Serena, who she spends so much time with, meals and evenings and weekends. Serena, who somehow coaxes her to speak, to tell tales of her time in far-flung cities, her time as a student here, the injury that put her career on hold and brought her back when Hanssen asked.

‘I’m very glad he did,’ Serena had said quietly at the end of that story, her fingers grasping Bernie’s and a look in her eyes that Bernie couldn’t name.

‘Me too,’ Bernie replied, even though at the time that one tiny slip, that one stupid mistake, had felt like the end of days.

So Bernie walks beside Serena towards their classrooms, close enough that their arms brush, rushing students milling around them but giving them a wide berth. Bernie pauses in her doorway, watches Serena stand in hers and gesture for her first class to enter, offers a smile when Serena glances at her and feels a pang of worry when she hears another sneeze just before the door closes behind her.

All morning the usual sounds of Serena’s lessons are muted. Oh, the students still talk but Serena’s voice is largely missing from the aural landscape and Bernie misses it, can’t help feeling a stab of concern every time a cough or a sneeze punctures the quiet but suspects Serena would be far from pleased if she stuck her nose in and meddled. So she stays in her room, offers Serena a smile and tries not to look too worried when they pass in the corridor between lessons, Bernie going to make a cup of tea and Serena with one already steaming in her hand, has to bite back a repeat of her question from breakfast, forces herself to keep walking instead of turning to watch Serena retreat back into her classroom.

Bernie spends the afternoon outside in the chilly, slightly damp courtyard, her breath coming in white puffs as she times the first years on the climbing walls. By the time the bell rings for the end of the class – the end of the week – they all have rosy cheeks and slightly runny noses but they’re happy, everyone – Bernie included – buoyed by their progress so far.

But her good mood fades when she goes down to dinner and there’s no sign of Serena, when she still hasn’t appeared by the time the hall empties of students.

‘I heard her sneezing all last lesson,’ Raf, who has the classroom on the other side of the corridor, offers when Bernie asks if anyone’s seen her.

‘Right,’ Bernie mutters under her breath. ‘Stupid, stubborn, _impossible_ woman.’

She slips into the kitchen and makes up a plate of leftovers, pops a cover on top and makes her way to Serena’s classroom. It’s empty, the desks and chairs askew and a messy pile of books on Serena’s desk. So Bernie straightens everything out, leaving the room in something at least close to Serena’s usual standards, and then heads for Serena’s private quarters, precisely one floor beneath her own. She knocks quietly on the door and waits, but there’s no response.

Leaving the plate on the floor by the door Bernie jogs upstairs and into her own rooms, climbs out of the window and down the wall until she can look through Serena’s. The curtains are still open and when she sees a lump under the duvet she breathes a sigh of relief, lingers long enough to watch it rise and fall with several breaths. Filled with a sudden longing Bernie reaches to splay her palm against the cold glass; when the clouds shift and the room is bathed in a silvery wash, the moonlit shadow of her hand falls on Serena’s shoulder. Bernie stays still until the light behind her fades again, then swiftly climbs back up and in through her own window.

She breathes another sigh of relief much later, after she’s looked in on Raven House’s dorms after lights out in lieu of Serena and then sneaked down to the kitchen in search of a biscuit, when she passes Serena’s door on her way back up and sees that the plate has gone.

Early the next morning, before it’s even starting to get light, Bernie meets two of her postgraduate students in the courtyard and takes them up onto the rooftops. They spend the grey hours around dawn climbing, racing each other along ridges until they finally sit, breathless, legs dangling over the edge of the Lady Sybil Free Hospital, and watch what passes for a sunrise in Ember. The run home is rather more leisurely, and by the time they arrive back at the Guild the dining hall is almost empty.

‘You just missed Serena,’ Raf says as Bernie sits down next to him at the otherwise deserted staff table. ‘Although you might want to give it a while before going to see her – looked in need of a nap already, if I’m any judge.’

Bernie smiles and thanks him, attacks her breakfast with much more relish now she knows Serena has been up, has eaten.

Despite her longing to see Serena with her own eyes, to assess her condition, Bernie takes Raf’s advice. She busies herself with marking essays and planning new climbing routes up the practice walls for her classes, new deadfalls and traps to try and catch them out. And then, when the first bells ring out noon across the city, she leaves her classroom and heads down to the kitchen. She hasn’t got the knack of charming the kitchen staff yet, doubts she’ll ever manage it however much time she spends with Serena, who is the very epitome of charm. But she mentions Serena, mentions that she’s not well, and all of a sudden a tray laden with food appears and is pushed into her arms.

‘You tell Ms McKinnie we all hope she feels better soon,’ the chef says, slipping a bowl filled with a very generous portion of chocolate mousse onto the only free corner of the tray. ‘And if there’s anything else she needs she only has to ask.’

‘I will,’ Bernie stammers out as he ushers her from the room, shaking her head and smiling at the effect Serena has.

The tray is so heavy that Bernie can’t balance it on one hand to knock on the door of Serena’s quarters, has to resort to kicking it gently instead. ‘Serena?’ she calls softly. ‘Are you awake?’

She’s just about to give up and leave the plate outside again when she hears a shuffling, and then the door opens and there is Serena, messy hair and reddened nose and all.

‘Bernie,’ she croaks, smiling.

‘Thought you might prefer not to eat in the hall today,’ Bernie explains, holding out the tray. But instead of taking it from her, Serena ushers her inside and closes the door behind her, waves her over to the coffee table and armchairs in front of the fire.

‘You’re a darling,’ Serena says, and then her eyes light up. ‘Oh, chocolate mousse. My favourite.’

‘For dessert,’ Bernie says firmly, snatching the bowl from under Serena’s outstretched hand.

‘But I’m ill,’ Serena protests.

‘Exactly. You’re ill, so you should eat proper food first.’

Serena huffs and pouts, but acquiesces. And when they’ve both had their fill and Bernie relinquishes the bowl to her she passes over a second spoon, insists that Bernie has some too.

‘Will you stay a while?’ Serena asks, almost shyly, when Bernie makes a move to stand.

Bernie looks at her, curled under a blanket, her eyes tired but hopeful, and finds she can’t say no. So she sinks back into her chair and reaches to pour herself another cup of tea.

‘Of course I will,’ she says quietly, even though there are two more sets of essays on her desk waiting to be marked, even though Serena looks like she’s bare moments away from falling asleep. And when Serena smiles, she knows she’s made the right decision.

*

As Ember progresses and winter deepens, Bernie finds herself spending more and more time with Serena. The evenings when one doesn’t go to the other’s classroom with a stack of marking and a pot of tea become rarer, as do the nights when they don’t retire after dinner to one’s quarters to continue – Serena’s, usually, because that means climbing one less flight of stairs. And even when they’ve both finished working for the night Bernie stays until they’ve drunk a bottle of Serena’s favourite wine or a pot of her favourite tea, talking and listening and watching Serena glow in the firelight.

One particularly cold night, when the wind is driving the rain hard against the windowpanes and rattling the glass in its frames, Serena grasps at Bernie’s hand before she can sit in her usual armchair. Bernie turns, eyebrows raised in question, and Serena gently tugs until they’re sitting side by side on the little sofa. She spreads one blanket over both of their laps, and by the time they’re half way through their glasses and a discussion on the progress of the fifth years in Serena’s house, Serena has shifted closer, their arms pressed together. And then, after Serena has topped up their glasses, she settles even closer, shuffles until she can rest her head on Bernie’s shoulder.

‘Is this ok?’ Serena asks quietly.

‘Yes,’ Bernie murmurs. All she can smell with every breath is Serena’s perfume, Serena’s soap, and she has to push away a sudden yearning to bury her nose in Serena’s hair, to press a kiss to the crown of her head.

When Serena sighs contentedly, her body softening against Bernie’s, Bernie feels all warm inside, feels warmth blooming to fill her entire being. She closes her eyes, dares to slip her arm from the back of the sofa to drape around Serena’s shoulders, after a moment dares even further to tighten her embrace a little.

The next night isn’t quite as cold but when Serena sits on the sofa she looks at Bernie a little anxiously, her eyes wide with hope, and when Bernie sits beside her again she smiles so brightly that her eyes sparkle and the lines around them deepen. Bernie suddenly longs to trace them with her fingers, longs to press kisses to the crow’s feet, to the flushed apples of Serena’s cheeks. Instead she busies herself with pouring the tea, her hands inexplicably trembling so she almost spills it into the saucers.

Two days later, Bernie manages to ruin it all.

*          *          *

Serena is at lunch on Saturday, trying to pay attention to Raf while wondering where Bernie is, when one of her second years comes up and whispers in her ear that Morven and Jasmine are in the sanatorium. Her eyes widen and she pushes her chair back so hard that it screeches, strides from the room and to the sanatorium as fast as she can without actually running.

‘What on Disc happened to the pair of you?’ she asks when she arrives to find both girls scraped and bruised, and Morven’s wrist in a bandage.

‘We were out with Ms Wolfe,’ Morven explains. ‘For extra edificeering.’

‘She took us up Tump Tower,’ Jasmine adds. ‘Only – well, we didn’t exactly manage to get all the way up.’

‘She what?’ Serena asks, her voice suddenly low and fierce enough to make both girls draw back against their pillows. ‘What was she thinking? Tump Tower indeed. That’s far above the level you’ve been climbing at – and yes, as your House Mistress I know exactly what level you’re at.’

‘She was only trying to help us,’ Morven protests as Serena stands, smoothing down her blouse and heading for the door.

Too filled with anger at Bernie’s recklessness, at her misjudgement of Morven and Jasmine’s abilities, Serena doesn’t hear. She strides along the corridors towards Bernie’s classroom, students scattering before her and staring in her wake.

‘What were you thinking, Ms Wolfe?’ Serena asks, entering the room without knocking. ‘Tump Tower is easily a 4.1, 4.2 You’ve had Morven and Jasmine working no higher than 3.8 this term. How did you think it was going to end?’

‘Serena, I–’

‘And without even having the courtesy to inform me, as their House Mistress, that you were taking them out for additional tutoring,’ Serena continues, ignoring her.

‘Serena–’ Bernie tries again.

But Serena doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to hear excuses for why Bernie has needlessly endangered two of the young women in her care. So she sweeps from the room again, doesn’t stop until she reaches her own quarters and sinks, trembling, into a chair.

Serena makes sure to arrive early for dinner that evening, sits between Raf and Ric and ignores both their questioning looks, pointedly ignores Bernie when she enters the hall, and keeps her gaze firmly fixed on her plate. When she’s finished she has to pass behind Bernie to leave. She hears a murmur of her name, thinks she feels fingers brush at her arm but pays no heed to either, continues on her way and goes straight to her quarters. She doesn’t bother with the lamps, just sits and stares at the dancing, flickering flames in the fireplace and stews.

Betrayed, that’s how she feels. She’d thought they were friends, or something approaching that, anyway. And now she goes and does this.

A while later – a minute, an hour, Serena has no idea, has lost all grasp of the passage of time – there’s a familiar tap at the door.

‘Serena?’

Serena’s heart flutters at the sound of Bernie’s voice. Perhaps she ought to let her in, give her the chance to explain. But then she remembers the sight of Morven and Jasmine in their sanatorium beds and her stomach twists.

 _Let her stew,_ Serena thinks, almost viciously.

She sits still, listens to the shifting of Bernie’s feet on the floorboards outside. _Nerves?_ she wonders. _Because she knows she did wrong, knows that I’m furious and she deserves it?_

‘I’m sorry,’ Bernie says eventually. ‘I never meant for them to get hurt. Never meant to hurt you. I just – no, I’m not having this conversation with your door. Goodnight, Serena. I’ll see you in the morning.’

Bernie’s footsteps are uncharacteristically heavy as she retreats and then climbs the last flight of stairs up to her quarters. Serena hears her door open and close, hears her tread right above her head. She sounded sorry, repentant, and for a moment, imagining the wide-eyed hurt on her face, Serena considers going after her. But the anger is still bubbling inside her and she knows she’ll say something she’ll regret, so instead she picks a book up off the coffee table and forces herself to concentrate on the page.

It doesn’t work. With a huff Serena snaps the book closed and gets ready for bed, even though it’s far too early. Sleep is a long time coming.

She wakes grumpy from too little rest and too much time spent tossing and turning. As a result she’s not quite as ready to speak to Bernie as she thought she would be, and when she goes down to breakfast she’s relieved to see an empty plate and a scattering of toast crumbs in Bernie’s usual place, grateful to have the chance to drink at least one cup of coffee and wake up a little before facing her, grateful to have the chance to steel herself.

Serena decides to put it off a little longer by visiting the girls in the sanatorium, where Sacha kept them overnight just to be on the safe side. But when she pushes open the door she hears a familiar voice, sees the two of them talking and laughing with Bernie. Serena turns on her heel and strides away down the corridor, hears the door open again and Bernie’s footsteps as she chases after her, the loudest she’s ever heard Bernie move.

‘Serena! Serena, please let me explain.’

Serena halts and takes a breath before turning to pin Bernie with a glare. But Bernie doesn’t quail, comes closer until there’s only a foot of air between them.

‘Come on,’ she says quietly, her hand hovering almost at Serena’s elbow.

Serena raises one eyebrow at her and crosses her arms.

‘Or we could just stay here and talk,’ Bernie surrenders, hand dropping back down to her side.

‘Very well,’ Serena sighs, because she does have a point: this isn’t a conversation to have in the corridor, where students or colleagues could walk past at any moment. She turns again and heads towards her classroom, doesn’t look back to see if Bernie’s following. ‘Go on then,’ she says coolly once the door has closed behind them, standing in front of the blackboard like she’s teaching. ‘Explain. Explain why you took two of my girls to climb a tower far beyond their abilities. Why you didn’t think that it might not be a good idea. Why you didn’t even bother to tell me. I thought we were _friends_ , Bernie,’ she adds, almost spitting the words at her.

‘We are,’ Bernie replies, gaze slipping from Serena’s as she ducks her head, eyes hidden behind her fringe. ‘And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I really am. I just – well, I wanted it to be a surprise.’

‘You certainly managed that part.’

‘Not like that,’ Bernie sighs, her fingers twisting together, her eyes fixed on the floor. ‘In Thursday’s lesson we talked about the Edificeering Cup, about getting started on training. And Morven and Jasmine told me that my predecessor refused to push them or give them extra opportunities because they were girls, told me how despite your best efforts Raven House has always come last in the Cup. Well that’s not going to happen this year, not if I have anything to do with it.’

Finally Bernie lifts her gaze, and Serena has to bite back a gasp at the look in her eyes.

‘I pushed them too hard, too fast,’ she admits. ‘But I wanted them to see that they’re better than he thought, better than _they_ think. They did so well, Serena, got so close. And they’re fine, they are. I would never have taken them on a route that would have put them in real danger, I promise. I just wanted to inspire them, wanted them to believe that they could be real contenders, that they were in with the same chance as everyone else.’

Serena feels herself flood with guilt for being so angry, for not giving Bernie a chance to explain. She walks over to her desk and sinks into her chair, can feel Bernie’s anxious gaze on her the entire time but can’t look at her.

‘They want to win for you,’ Bernie adds quietly. ‘Not just for themselves. You mean so much to them, Serena, and I wanted to help them be the best they could be, for you.’

Serena doesn’t realise that Bernie has moved until she hears her open the door. ‘Bernie, wait,’ she says quickly, looking at her.

Bernie turns, her hand still on the doorknob, and meets Serena’s eye.

‘I’m sorry,’ Serena says quietly. ‘I should have known that you had a good reason, that you weren’t just being reckless. And I should have let you explain yesterday. I just– I was so angry when I saw them hurt, so angry that you’d put them in a situation that got them hurt. I’m afraid I came over a bit tiger House Mistress.’

‘It’s alright,’ Bernie smiles, letting the door close and walking back towards Serena.

‘No, it isn’t,’ Serena frowns. ‘You’re my friend, and I should have trusted you.’

‘I understand, Serena,’ Bernie says. ‘They’re your girls, of course you care about them and want to protect them. I’m sorry I betrayed your trust by not telling you.’

‘I have a tendency to assume the worst of people,’ Serena confesses quietly, staring down at her desk again, her eyes tracing the grain of the wood. She barely manages to suppress a jump when Bernie’s hand lands on hers, shifts her gaze first to Bernie’s thumb, rubbing back and forth along hers, and then to Bernie’s face, to her wide, dark eyes.

‘I’m sorry I gave you cause to think the worst of me,’ Bernie says softly.

The sincerity in her voice and the intensity in her gaze almost bring tears to Serena’s eyes, and she turns her hand over so she can grasp Bernie’s fingers tightly.

‘It would have been a nice surprise,’ she admits, her voice slightly hoarse.

‘I, uh, I don’t have to stop just because it won’t be a surprise any more,’ Bernie says quietly. ‘My reasons for wanting to help them are still valid, even if you know.’

‘You’d do that? For m– for them? Even though I’ve been awful to you?’

‘I would,’ Bernie replies, squeezing Serena’s hand. ‘If you’ll let me.’

‘I’d be glad to,’ Serena smiles. ‘And I really am sorry, Bernie.’

‘So am I. Now why don’t we agree to say no more about it, and go and give the girls the good news?’

‘An excellent plan, Ms Wolfe.’

And so to their usual evenings and weekends together is added Bernie’s additional tutoring sessions with Morven and Jasmine, both theoretical and practical. Serena rues it a little, the way it eats into the times she’s come to enjoy the most out of her day. But then she sees how happy her girls are, hears them talking about what they’re doing with Ms Wolfe and how much they’re enjoying it, sees the growth of both their skills and their confidence, and she can’t regret it. Can’t regret it when she sees Bernie glowing with pride either, when she smiles that shy little smile as she looks through her fringe right into Serena’s eyes and Serena feels her pulse jump.

Her past, all the things she hasn’t told Bernie, start to eat at her. They’re close now, somehow friends in this place and profession where true friends are not really a thing one has, and it’s starting to feel a bit like she’s lying to her. But she never talks about it, even though it’s been a decade, even though she’s in a different place now, a different life.

 _That’s it, though, isn’t it?_ she thinks late one evening as they both sit marking essays, glancing across at Bernie. _I have a new life, I don’t want him to pollute this one too. I don’t want to lose all this, on top of everything else he took from me._

So she doesn’t say a thing, even though it niggles at her near constantly, even though something about Bernie makes her want to spill her heart and all her long held secrets and all her pain. And the longer she doesn’t say anything, the harder it gets. Because what if Bernie feels betrayed? What if he somehow manages to ruin this life she’s built for herself from beyond the grave?

_What if I lose her?_

*

December has just arrived, with a sudden drop in the temperature but no sign of snow, when the Inhumation Bell rings, announcing not one but two major new contracts to be fulfilled. Two _associated_ contracts, if Serena has interpreted the chime pattern correctly. Not a common occurrence.

 _How intriguing,_ Serena thinks as she continues teaching her second years, looking forward to hearing about them later.

She expects to hear about them over dinner, details passed along the table from the office staff and the contracted Assassin. She doesn’t expect Hanssen’s secretary to slip into her classroom once her students have left, to be ushered along the corridors and shown directly into his office.

‘Ah, Ms McKinnie, do take a seat,’ he says as the secretary closes the door behind her, gesturing towards the leather armchairs in front of the fire.

‘Henrik,’ Serena says, sitting and patting the head of the wolfhound who pads over to sniff at her. ‘To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?’

‘I have a proposition for you.’

‘Go on.’

‘You have, no doubt, heard about the recent spate of deaths at the Lady Sybil Free?’

‘I have,’ Serena says, mouth twisting in distaste. ‘Sybil tells me they have no evidence of any wrongdoing on Dr Gaskell’s part, leaving them unable to act.’

‘That is correct. _They_ are unable to act.’ He picks up a piece of paper from his desk and glances at it. ‘But we are not,’ he adds quietly. ‘Not as of today.’

‘The double contract?’ Serena guesses.

Hanssen nods.

‘Gaskell and?’

‘His associate, Dr Mayfield.’

Serena considers this, wonders how many of the victims’ families, how many hospital staff who could offer no evidence more tangible than their own word, must have had to club together to afford to engage the Guild for not one but two inhumations. ‘Well, I know the Guild inhumes for money not morals, but I don’t think any of us can deny that they are the most deserving of victims.’

‘I, of course, could not possibly comment on that,’ Hanssen says, although Serena is almost certain she sees something approving in his eyes. ‘But I will admit to being relieved at having your views on the matter confirmed.’

‘Why?’ Serena frowns, a note of suspicion entering her voice.

Hanssen crosses the room and hands her a slip of paper. Serena looks at it. All it contains is two names – a victim and an Assassin – a date, two addresses, a figure in Ankh-Morpork dollars, and underneath two more names: another victim, and another Assassin.

‘I’m retired, Henrik.’

‘I know.’

She ought to refuse. But instead she finds herself staring at the words, considering it; she did always have a weakness for the underdog, did always despise those who abused their positions of power at the expense of others less fortunate and more trusting than themselves. Things that Henrik is only too aware of.

‘Very well,’ Serena sighs. ‘I accept.’

Hanssen moves back to sit at his desk, to write her acceptance into his ledger. ‘I hope you don’t feel slighted?’ he asks.

‘Slighted?’

‘By my having given the larger contract of the pair to Ms Wolfe,’ he explains.

Serena laughs. ‘Bernie’s been out of the game for ten months. I’ve been out of it for ten _years_.’

Hanssen smiles – or rather, one corner of his mouth twitches almost imperceptibly.

‘She, uh, she doesn’t know, Henrik,’ Serena says quietly, her fingers toying with the corner of the paper.

‘Know?’ Hanssen asks, tilting his head.

‘About me. Who I was, who I used to be. I’d appreciate the opportunity to tell her, to explain. So she doesn’t find out like this.’

‘Ah. I’m afraid it may be too late for that,’ Hanssen apologises, looking almost embarrassed.

‘What do you–’

Serena is interrupted by the door swinging open with such force that the handle slams into the wall and a chunk of painted plaster drops to the floor.

‘Ms Wolfe,’ Hanssen says calmly, steepling his fingers and gazing at Bernie. ‘You have received your contract, I presume?’

‘I have,’ Bernie replies, brandishing a slip of paper at him. ‘What _exactly_ were you thinking, assigning her to this? She might be a tutor here but she isn’t a member of the Guild. Has she ever even inhumed anybody?’

‘ _She_ is sitting right here,’ comes a dry voice from behind Bernie.

Bernie freezes. She gazes helplessly at Hanssen but he merely appears slightly amused, and then slowly turns around to find Serena comfortably ensconced in one of the leather armchairs in front of the fire, Hanssen’s dog curled at her feet, an almost identical slip of paper in her lap. She cocks her head and arches one eyebrow; Bernie blushes but forces herself to hold her gaze.

‘You know I respect you, Serena – as a teacher, a colleague, a friend. But this is the first contract I’ve had since my injury, a big one too, and you’re hardly the obvious person to be assigned a related contract.’

‘Actually, I think you’ll find that she is,’ Hanssen says, before Serena can speak. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some matters to attend to. Ms McKinnie, please take as long as you need.’

‘Thank you, Henrik,’ Serena says quietly.

They both watch him leave, his dog at his heels, closing the door quietly behind him.

‘So,’ Bernie says tightly, shoving her hands into her pockets. ‘Something you need to tell me?’

‘I haven’t always gone by McKinnie,’ Serena says quietly, her gaze on her knees. ‘I reverted to my maiden name when I moved here from Quirm. Before that I used my married name. Campbell.’

‘Campbell?’ Bernie asks, barely keeping her jaw from dropping. ‘You’re _the_ Serena Campbell? The Raven of Quirm?’

‘I was,’ Serena confirms.

Bernie stares at her as she folds and unfolds and refolds the slip of paper with the inhumation details on it, her brain working overtime as she tries to reconcile the woman in front of her – her colleague, her friend – with the stories of the Raven, the near legendary female Assassin she has always longed to meet.

‘I don’t talk about it,’ Serena says, barely above a whisper, barely audible above the crackling of the fire. ‘Not to anyone, not ever. I left all that behind when I left Quirm.’

Even through her confusion and the sense of betrayal, Bernie can hear the worry and pain in Serena’s voice. She crosses the room and sits in the other armchair. ‘What happened?’ she asks gently.

‘My husband, Edward,’ Serena begins, ‘turned out not to be quite the charming gentleman he appeared. He slept his way around the ladies’ bedchambers of Quirm.’

‘Bastard,’ Bernie mutters, unable to stop herself.

Serena smiles. ‘If only that had been the worst of it. As far as I was aware, he was an honest trader. Actually, he was caught up in smuggling, associated with some very unsavoury characters.’

She sighs heavily, and Bernie has to squeeze her hands between her thighs to keep herself from reaching for her.

‘I still don’t know exactly what happened,’ Serena continues, her fingers now toying with her pendant, a roughness to her voice that suggests time hasn’t healed this wound, that as Serena told her this isn’t something she’s used to talking about. ‘But our daughter got caught up in it. He cared more about his reputation, his business, himself, than he did about our little girl.

‘I could have killed him, Bernie. I very nearly _did_ kill him then and there, had a knife in my hand and everything. But for all that I’m self-taught I’m still an Assassin, not a murderer. Ric was working in Quirm at the time, we knew each other professionally. He came to see me one morning and told me, as a courtesy, that he’d received a contract to inhume Edward. And I told him that yes, I knew.’

‘You had your own husband inhumed?’ Bernie asks, eyes wide in disbelief.

‘He was not a good man, Bernie,’ Serena says. ‘I found out that he’d hurt a lot of people, done a lot of despicable things. And he may as well have killed my Elinor with his own hands.’

‘Oh Serena,’ Bernie breathes.

‘See, this is why I don’t talk about it. I don’t want pity or judgement, don’t want that man to have any more influence over my life than he already has.’

‘Look at me,’ Bernie says, leaning forward and finally allowing herself to reach for Serena. ‘Please look at me, Serena.’

Slowly, reluctantly, Serena lifts her gaze from her lap to flit around Bernie’s face, never quite meeting her eye.

‘I don’t pity you, awful as it must have been. And I certainly don’t judge you. I’m proud to know such a strong, courageous woman. Proud to be able to call her my friend.’

‘You– you are?’ Serena asks, her gaze finally settling on Bernie’s, searching her eyes.

‘Yes,’ Bernie smiles. ‘And maybe just a little bit star struck at realising that I’m sat opposite the Raven of Quirm,’ she adds.

‘No one’s called me that in over a decade,’ Serena laughs. And then she frowns, her face falling. ‘I’m sorry for not telling you, I really am. It has nothing to do with you, with trust, it’s just–’

‘I understand,’ Bernie interrupts her. ‘You don’t need to explain yourself. And if you want, we don’t ever have to mention it again. But I’m here if you want to talk. I’m always here for you, Serena. Whatever you need.’

‘Thank you,’ Serena smiles.

And then Bernie finds herself being half pulled out of her chair and against Serena. She slips her arms around Serena’s waist and holds her tight, and despite the awkwardness of the position she realises she feels the most right she has since she arrived at the Guild.

‘So do you think you can bear to work with me?’ Serena asks when they draw apart.

‘Oh, I’m sure I’ll manage,’ Bernie teases, pretending not to notice Serena wiping tears from her cheeks. ‘I suppose we should give Hanssen his office back and start comparing notes.’

‘And reassure him we aren’t at each other’s throats,’ Serena adds dryly. ‘You’re– you’re sure you’re alright with this, Bernie? I mean it’s been a while but I won’t let you down, I promise.’

Bernie smiles, reaches for Serena’s hand and squeezes gently. ‘From what I know of you, you’re never less than excellent at anything you do. I’m not expecting this to be any different.’

Serena smiles at this, flushes a little at the compliment. ‘I must admit, I am rather looking forward to seeing you in your element. It’s going to be quite a treat: the great Berenice Wolfe in action.’

‘The Wolfe and the Raven,’ Bernie grins. ‘I think we might make quite the pair.’

They leave the office side by side, each offering a small smile in response to Hanssen’s questioning frown as they pass him, walk down the corridor just as close as they usually do, their arms brushing, the silk of their shirts raising a barely perceptible whisper in the still air.

‘Hang on,’ Bernie frowns, suddenly stopping. ‘Did you name your House? Seems like quite a coincidence.’

Serena laughs. ‘I didn’t, no. But Ric delights in informing me that it was named _after_ me, and my becoming House Mistress was a perfectly serendipitous occurrence. I’ve never been entirely sure if he’s teasing me or if it’s true.’

Bernie laughs at this, a joyous, ridiculous honking sound that echoes off the walls. Serena has never heard Bernie laugh properly, stares at her wide-eyed and then can’t help but join in until they’re leaning against each other, breathless.

‘Quite the pair indeed,’ she says when she can speak again, wiping tears of mirth this time from her cheeks. ‘Come on,’ she adds, slipping her hand into the crook of Bernie’s elbow. ‘I think this deserves a drink.’

*

‘I’d forgotten how much work preparing for an inhumation is,’ Serena sighs, flopping down onto the sofa beside Bernie.

‘Out of practice, Raven?’ Bernie teases, nudging Serena with her shoulder.

Serena huffs. ‘I came back from Sybil’s across the rooftops, and let’s just say I think I’ll be taking a rather less aerial approach to Mayfield’s apartment on the night. I’m beginning to wonder if Henrik made a mistake in assigning this to me.’

‘He didn’t,’ Bernie says firmly. ‘You’ve been working on it every spare hour you have, Serena. I mean, look at all this.’ She gestures to the table, spread with pages and pages of notes and maps and plans of Mayfield and Gaskell’s routines, habits and homes. ‘So what if you can’t scale every building in the city? There are more ways to get around than that. And,’ she adds, when Serena still looks unconvinced, ‘there’s no one I’d rather be working with.’

‘Really?’

‘Really,’ Bernie confirms. ‘I haven’t enjoyed a single contract I’ve had to work with another Assassin on until now, always preferred to work on my own.’

‘A lone wolf?’ Serena teases, her eyes glinting.

‘Oh yes, I’ve never heard that one before,’ Bernie scowls playfully, rolling her eyes. ‘Seriously, Serena. Working with you, bouncing ideas off you – it’s the most fun I’ve had on a contract in a long time.’

Serena smiles, then winces and rubs at her hands, flexing her fingers and her wrists.

‘Sore?’ Bernie guesses.

‘Not exactly an active edificeer,’ Serena grimaces. ‘A little surprised at how much I managed, if I’m honest.’

‘It’s not the dog in the fight, it’s the fight in the dog,’ Bernie says, reaching for Serena’s hands. ‘Let me?’

Serena nods and Bernie slowly, carefully begins to massage Serena’s palm, thumb pressing into the flesh; her skin is soft and smooth and Bernie lingers far longer than she ought to, doesn’t seem able to let go.

‘There,’ she says eventually.

But even though she’s stopped moving Serena doesn’t pull her hands away, leaves them resting in Bernie’s lap, in Bernie’s hands. And then she clears her throat and shakes her head, almost as if she’s coming out of a trance. ‘Thank you,’ she murmurs, her voice low and a little rough.

‘You’re very welcome,’ Bernie replies.

They talk quietly about what Sybil told Serena over dinner, what the doctor Sybil had invited told them both about the progress of Gaskell’s experimental treatment trial under cover of Serena being interested merely because it’s being spoken of in dining and drawing rooms across Ankh, what Bernie observed from her perch on the building opposite Gaskell and Mayfield’s office, getting chilly and damp while Serena was warm and well-fed.

It isn’t until Bernie yawns and looks at the clock and, seeing how late it is, says she’d better be going that she realises Serena’s hands are still in hers, that Serena never drew them away.

*

Hogswatch is fast approaching, just a week left until the end of term, until their contracts are to be carried out, the night before Hogswatch Eve.

‘A present for all those unfortunate enough to have been affected by Gaskell and Mayfield’s work,’ Serena says with a grim smile as they sit in Bernie’s classroom, a pot of tea and a plate of spiced biscuits Serena charmed from the cook on Bernie’s desk.

‘And tonight is an early Hogswatch present for you,’ Bernie says. ‘An insight into how well Raven House might do in the Cup.’

Because she’s sent Morven and Jasmine out into the city on their own for the first time tonight, given them each a testing route with tokens to collect along the way so she knows which towers and obstacles they manage and which they don’t. Both routes are drawn up on the blackboard and Bernie is pacing back and forth in front of it, periodically glancing at the chalked shapes representing landmarks, checking off in her head when the girls should be past each. She knows she’s prepared them for this, knows that while the routes are challenging and will stretch them they’re both capable of what she’s asking.

But that doesn’t stop her being filled with nerves, a constant stream of _what if what if what if_ racing around her mind. She knows that Serena’s speaking, but her voice is merely a background hum to Bernie’s thoughts as she visualises the rooftops and towers, imagines all the things that could go wrong, all the ways Morven and Jasmine could come back to them injured. All the reasons Serena might have to hate her once this night is done.

When Serena’s hand lands on her elbow Bernie jumps, whirls around so sharply her hair flies around her face, her eyes wide and her heart pounding.

‘Stop worrying,’ Serena says, her gaze steady on Bernie’s.

‘But what if–’

‘No,’ Serena says firmly.

‘But–’

‘I know all the things that could go wrong – I was sat right here when you briefed them, remember? And I know you wouldn’t send them out if they weren’t prepared. I trust you, Bernie.’

Bernie takes a deep breath and nods, manages a worried smile and lets Serena push her gently down into a chair, takes a biscuit when Serena pushes the plate towards her and forces all her anxiety into the tapping of her foot beneath the desk. Instead of the voice in her head she makes herself listen to Serena, focuses all her energy on Serena until she all but forgets why they’re sitting in her slightly chilly classroom instead of Serena’s toasty quarters, in hard wooden chairs instead of on Serena’s comfortable sofa.

Until there’s a soft chink on the wall outside, and then the window is pushed open and Morven climbs through it, dropping gracefully to the floor and beaming at them as she lowers her hood.

‘I made it back first?’

‘You did,’ Bernie smiles, jumping up and holding out her hand. As Morven pulls a series of tokens from her pockets Bernie looks at her closely. She hears Serena get up too, feels the change in the air as she hovers behind her and examines Morven over her shoulder.

‘I’m fine,’ Morven reassures them both. ‘Had a bit of trouble getting to that one,’ she says, pointing to a tin soldier, ‘and that one took me a few attempts,’ she adds, pointing this time to a cork stained with red wine, ‘but no injuries.’

‘Well done,’ Bernie smiles, reaching to pat her shoulder. ‘You’ve put a lot of work in over the last month, and it’s paid off.’

‘I can’t wait until next term,’ Morven says, bouncing on her toes.

‘Aw, you got back before me?’ Jasmine says, climbing through the window and shutting it behind her.

‘Yep,’ Morven grins.

‘Only just,’ Bernie adds, turning her gaze on Jasmine and holding out her hand again. ‘One missing?’ she asks, counting the tokens as Jasmine passes them to her.

‘Broken gutter on Small Gods,’ Jasmine explains, frustration clear in her voice, pulling off her thin leather gloves. ‘Ice everywhere. I tried, Ms Wolfe, I really did, but I couldn’t get a grip anywhere. I could see it, but I just couldn’t reach.’

‘What was it?’ Bernie asks.

‘Hard to tell in the dark, but it looked like an elephant.’

Bernie nods. ‘And the rest?’

‘Mostly fine. I slipped coming down after getting that one,’ Jasmine says, pointing to a teaspoon. ‘Tore through my robes, but I’m fine. Everything else was alright.’

‘Good, well done,’ Bernie smiles.

‘Well done both of you,’ Serena echoes, gathering them into a tight hug. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

‘We’ll win the Cup for you, Ms McKinnie,’ Morven says, Jasmine nodding vigorously in agreement.

‘It’s just nice to know we’re in with a fighting chance this year,’ Serena smiles. ‘Now go on, off to bed with you. You and Ms Wolfe can debrief properly in the morning,’ she says firmly, when Jasmine opens her mouth to protest.

‘It’s late, do as your House Mistress says,’ Bernie says when the girls turn to her. ‘If you can’t sleep, jot down some notes about the run, any questions you have, and we’ll discuss them tomorrow.’

They watch the girls leave, listen to them chattering their way down the corridor. And then Bernie turns around and finds that Serena is closer than she expected, close enough to grasp her elbow.

‘See, I told you they were ready.’

‘And you’re always right,’ Bernie teases, but her voice is a little shaky with relief.

‘I’ll remember you said that,’ Serena smiles.

Bernie can’t help smiling too, the thrill of success coursing through her and pulling her lips into a wide curve.

Serena moves closer, her hand rising to grip Bernie’s robes. ‘That was an excellent early Hogswatch present, Bernie,’ she says softly, her eyes fixed on Bernie’s. ‘Thank you.’

Bernie can feel Serena’s breath against her skin, can feel every word. She sees Serena’s eyes flick down to her lips and then back up to meet hers again, hears her blood rushing in her ears as Serena shifts closer still, leans in almost close enough to meet her, the tips of their noses just brushing.

And then Jasmine bursts back through the door, and they spring apart as she dashes across the room.

‘Forgot my gloves,’ she says as she picks them up off the table. ‘Goodnight.’

She’s gone again in a whirl of black but the moment is broken. Bernie looks at Serena, finds her biting her lip, her fingers fiddling with her pendant, her eyes dancing around the room, landing anywhere but on Bernie’s face. Until Bernie clears her throat, and then Serena’s eyes instantly snap to hers.

There’s too much in them: too much hope, too much anxiety, too much feeling.

‘I, uh, I’d better–’ Bernie says, gesturing vaguely towards the door.

‘Of course,’ Serena says, averting her gaze to the blackboard.

Bernie turns and practically bolts for the door, pauses with her hand on the knob and looks back over her shoulder to see Serena staring out of the window. ‘Goodnight, Serena,’ she says quietly, almost a whisper.

She’s gone before she can hear Serena’s reply.

*

Bernie can’t sleep. She tosses and turns, lies still and stares up at the ceiling, tosses and turns some more.

Serena.

Serena almost kissed her.

Or did she almost kiss Serena?

Either way, they almost kissed.

Bernie hadn’t realised until that very moment, their lips a hairsbreadth apart, how very much she wanted to kiss Serena – how much she’s been wanting to kiss her, for weeks now. Has Serena been feeling the same? What if she has, what if she’s lying awake right now beneath these very floorboards, her fingers touching the spot where Bernie’s lips almost touched hers?

Or what if she hasn’t? What if Bernie’s ruined their working relationship, their friendship? The thought makes Bernie’s heart clench almost painfully.

 _No,_ she tells herself. _She moved closer to me, she looked at my lips. She wanted it too._

Eventually Bernie falls asleep, falls into dreams of Serena and running across the rooftops of Ankh, chasing or fleeing, she isn’t sure. But it isn’t enough and she wakes groggy, almost stumbles down the stairs on her way to breakfast. There’s a mug of coffee already waiting for her and she groans as the smell hits her, drains it in the hope that it will get to work clearing her head.

‘Sounds like you needed that.’

Bernie blinks blearily, and looks at Serena. Her eyes are filled with that same mixture of hope and anxiety and – yearning? Bernie can’t quite name it – as last night. Too sleepy for words she grunts in response, manages the vaguest smile before refilling her mug and then reaching for the toast rack. When Serena passes her the butter dish their fingers brush, and the feel of Serena’s skin against hers sends a jolt through Bernie, shocks her some of the way into wakefulness. Serena doesn’t instantly pull her hand away and Bernie’s lips curve up a little more, hesitant but undeniably a smile, and she sees Serena smile too before she returns her attention to her own breakfast.

Serena gets up to leave before her, slowly trails her fingers along Bernie’s shoulders and leans down to murmur in her ear, close enough that her breath stirs strands of Bernie’s hair. ‘I’ll see you later, Ms Wolfe.’

Bernie’s still sleep-hazed mind loses all ability to function. She’s powerless to stop herself watching Serena leave the room, eyes transfixed by the sway of her hips. And then with a shake of her head she returns her attention to her toast, tries to think through her first lesson but gives up because until she’s woken up properly she can only think about one thing at once, and right now nothing can dislodge Serena.

Now they’re in the last week before Hogswatch the students are unsettled, excitable. There’s the promise of snow in the air too which hardly helps, the older students as well as the younger distracted by looking out of the windows instead of at the blackboard or their books. Bernie barely has it in her to pull their attention back to the lesson, barely has it in her to keep her _own_ attention on the lesson. Because while the coffee has taken effect and kicked her system into functioning, all it’s really served to do is make her even more aware than she usually is of Serena’s presence in the next room, the hum of her voice, the imagining of her sat at her desk, standing in front of her class.

Somehow she makes it to the end of the day, flops down into her chair and scowls at the stack of essays she has to mark, pulls the first one towards her and picks up a pen. But three paragraphs in (or, more accurately, the same paragraph three times) there’s a familiar tap on the door before it’s pushed open.

‘Tea and a chat?’ Serena asks.

There’s nothing Bernie wants more but she’s been distracted enough with Serena the other side of a wall, knows she’ll never get any work done if they’re in the same room. ‘Afraid these essays won’t mark themselves,’ she says regretfully.

Serena nods her understanding even as her face falls. ‘See you at dinner, then?’

‘When have I ever missed a meal?’ Bernie smiles.

Serena smiles in return and withdraws. Bernie turns back to the essay with a sigh, makes it through three more paragraphs (different, consecutive ones this time) before she gives up and pulls out her notes on Gaskell instead, makes a start listing the equipment she’s going to take with her on the night. But when she reaches the fourth item and realises it’s the same as the second she throws her pen down on the desk in frustration and runs a hand through her hair. It’s no use: she can’t focus on paperwork. So she slips up to her quarters and pulls on warmer layers, digs her gloves out of a drawer and leaves via the window.

It’s dark and cold, but regardless Bernie takes a circuitous route towards the hospital, the plumes of her breath the only thing giving away her position as she scales walls and runs easily across the rooftops. By the time she settles on the convenient wide ledge across the street from Gaskell and Mayfield’s office she’s warm and soothed a little by the activity, but still she can’t settle and her thoughts keep drifting back to Serena, to what Serena’s doing right now, to what Serena would do if Bernie walked into her room and stalked over to her. To what Serena’s lips would feel like against hers, warm and soft and–

Bernie blinks to dispel the image and realises with a jolt that Gaskell is no longer in the office, that she has no idea when he left. She mutters a stream of curses, shakes her head and makes herself pay more attention, breathes a sigh of relief when he returns and sits back at his desk.

As usual, Mayfield is first to leave for the night. Bernie watches him pull on his coat and wrap his scarf around his neck before he exits the room, counts in her head and sees him come out of the main doors of the hospital without any delays, jogging down the steps and over the road, around the corner to the pub frequented by hospital staff, just as he does most nights.

Gaskell stays longer, so Bernie does as well. He leaves the office once, presumably to check on his current patient, then pores over his papers for a while longer until a blonde woman sticks her head around the door and waits for him so they can leave together. But at the bottom of the steps they part ways with only a brief word of farewell, Gaskell heading down the street in the direction of his house with his bodyguard trailing behind, and the woman walking away from him. Bernie’s glad of it. Gaskell is clearly concerned enough for his safety to have a guard and she strongly suspects she’s going to have to contend with a number of traps and deterrents to get to him; she doesn’t want the complication and collateral damage of a lover to deal with as well.

With Gaskell out of sight, Bernie stands and stretches out her cramped muscles, flexes her wrists and her ankles, rubs her hands together to get the blood flowing again. It isn’t until she’s half way back to the Guild that she realises she missed dinner. She speeds up along the familiar route, goes straight down to the kitchen and cuts herself bread, cheese and a slice of cold pie, arranges it on a plate and carries it upstairs.

Outside Serena’s door she pauses for a moment, considers knocking but keeps going to her own quarters. Much as she wants to see Serena, she didn’t do her best work tonight and she needs to be at her best for this: it’s her first inhumation since her injury, and a substantial contract at that. She can’t afford for anything to go wrong or this might be it for her, she might never be offered a decent contract again. And while she’s enjoying teaching more than she expected she can’t imagine not being an active Assassin. Her mind needs to be clear until Gaskell is inhumed. Which means she can’t be distracted by thoughts of Serena, of what she feels for Serena, of what Serena may or may not feel for her.

 _Just a week_ , Bernie tells herself. _It’s just for a week, how hard could it be? And then – and then what?_

*

Bernie doesn’t avoid Serena for the rest of the week – they live and work next to each other after all, not to mention that they’ll be completing a pair of connected contracts in just a few days and have to finish their preparations. And besides, she doesn’t _want_ to avoid her, knows that not seeing Serena at all will just make her more distracted.

But she’s careful around her, tries not to hold her gaze for as long, doesn’t sit quite as close. Somehow she hadn’t realised how often Serena touches her, how often she nudges against her or rests a hand on her shoulder or brushes fingers along her arm; hadn’t realised how often _she_ reaches for Serena, and it’s so out of character for her that she really ought to have noticed. But it isn’t until she has to stop herself, her hand hovering between them, that she’s hit by the fact that it’s become normal for her, for them.

 _Just a week,_ Bernie reminds herself, turning the movement into an awkward shuffling of her notes. She looks down at her lap but not before she sees confusion flit across Serena’s face, her brow furrowing for a moment before she too looks at her lap, the same expression as when Bernie sat in the armchair opposite her instead of in her usual place beside her on the sofa.

She should talk to Serena, she knows, should tell her she isn’t backing away because she doesn’t want her. But feelings and openness have never been Bernie’s strong suit; she’s always been actions not words, just like Serena guessed in their very first conversation. And she can’t be agonising over these particular words right now.

So she says nothing.

But when she leaves she allows herself to reach for Serena, to run her hand down Serena’s arm and feel the warmth of her through the crimson silk of her blouse, allows her fingers to drift past the cuff and along the back of Serena’s hand. Before Bernie can draw her hand away, Serena has turned hers and is gripping tightly. So Bernie squeezes back, meets Serena’s gaze and holds it for longer than she’s allowed herself to all night. It’s hard to look away; Bernie finds herself drifting closer, realises Serena is doing the same and slowly, gently disentangles herself. She murmurs a goodnight and lets herself out of Serena’s quarters with the feel of Serena’s hand lingering on hers and the feel of Serena’s eyes on her back.

*          *          *

As soon as Bernie finishes teaching on the day of the inhumations, she slips down to the kitchen and collects the plate of food she asked to be prepared for her, and then locks herself into her quarters. She eats slowly and then tunes out the sounds of the Guild, the sounds of the city outside, closes her eyes and slows her breathing into a steady rhythm, easing herself into a meditative state. She visualises the rooftops, all the potential routes to Gaskell’s house and then inside, considers all the nasty little surprises that might be waiting for her and how she would deal with each one. When she’s ready she eases herself back into the present moment, runs through a series of stretches to limber up ready for the climbs.

Across the courtyard the Guild bell rings out the hour, fashionably late as always: time to get ready.

Bernie pulls on layers of rough black and charcoal silk, slips each weapon and tool into its place, adds soft leather shoes. Finally she stands in front of the full-length mirror and checks her appearance, smooths creases from her shirt and fastidiously tucks every strand of hair into her hood. She turns this way and that, rearranging folds of fabric, and then laughs at herself: she never usually spends this long at the mirror. She takes care before every inhumation, of course – what Assassin doesn’t? But Bernie knows this isn’t about professional courtesy. No, it’s about Serena.

Speaking of which…

She allows herself one last glance and then slips out of the window. Time for business.

*

When Bernie arrives at their agreed meeting place she thinks that she’s got there first. But then she hears the softest whisper of silk, slowly turns and sees a plume of breath being expelled.

‘Well then, here we are,’ says a familiar, velvety voice.

Bernie blinks and Serena suddenly comes into view in the shadows between the chimneystacks.

‘Here we are,’ Bernie smiles. She looks Serena up and down, taking in the layers of silk in shades of grey and green mixed with Guild-mandated black, notes the lack of silver glinting at Serena’s neck and realises she’s taken off the pendant she wears every day.

‘I know the Guild wouldn’t approve,’ Serena starts, but Bernie cuts her off with a wave of her hand.

‘With your record, I hardly think anyone’s going to complain. But the Raven doesn’t wear all black?’

‘What can I say, I do like to surprise people,’ Serena says with a wink. ‘Shall we, Ms Wolfe?’

‘I’ll see you back here in a while,’ Bernie nods, no doubt in her mind that both of them will be successful. Her eyes linger on Serena’s face for a moment longer, and then she melts into the shadows and is away across the rooftops with barely a sound to mark her passage.

*

As they both suspected would happen, Serena makes it back first. Mayfield’s arrogance and resulting lack of bodyguards, traps or anything to protect himself made Serena’s job almost disappointingly easy, even a decade since her last inhumation.

She leans against one of the chimneystacks, listening to the bells chiming out of sync around the city, and the Hogswatch Eve Eve revellers and carol singers, and the usual sounds of Ankh-Morpork at night. To begin with she’s still but as she waits anxiety begins to creep in, and her fingers rise to toy with the collar of her cloak in lieu of her pendant. With a sigh she turns to pace the rooftop, and almost jumps out of her skin because Bernie is right there.

‘Could you wear louder shoes, please?’ she manages, breathless.

‘That would make the job rather harder,’ Bernie replies.

Serena reaches for her, grasps her arm and studies her as well as she can given the darkness.

‘I’m fine,’ Bernie says, taking hold of her hand. ‘Gave me a good workout, but all done. You?’

Serena nods, her heart settling back towards its usual rhythm. ‘Hardly a challenge, but I shouldn’t complain I suppose. Did it feel good to be back?’

‘It did,’ Bernie smiles. Her eyes are sparkling, and her cheeks are flushed from more than just the cold air and exertion. ‘What about for you?’ she asks, moving closer.

‘I didn’t think I’d missed it, I thought it was all behind me. But I have, Bernie.’

A sudden gust of wind swirls around them, tugging Bernie’s hood down and making her hair dance around her face, shimmering almost silver in the moonlight. Serena reaches to brush it away, to tuck it behind her ear so she can see her eyes, hand lingering on her jaw, thumb stroking along her cheekbone.

‘Serena,’ Bernie whispers, the wind almost stealing it away.

Serena shifts closer, until they’re as close as they were in Bernie’s classroom and she can feel the warmth radiating from her.

‘Tell me not to,’ Serena murmurs, her lips almost on Bernie’s, their eyes locked together.

Bernie shakes her head. ‘I won’t.’

So Serena closes the final, tiny gap, her hands sinking into Bernie’s hair as Bernie’s arms snake around her body to hold her close, like she never wants to let go.

‘I thought,’ Serena says softly, ‘I thought I’d gone too far, thought you didn’t want–’

‘I’ve been wanting nothing else all week,’ Bernie replies, words Serena feels almost more than she hears them.

‘But you–’

‘I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise until that moment, and then I couldn’t focus,’ Bernie admits, her hands rubbing up and down Serena’s back. ‘And I couldn’t afford to be distracted, not this week.’

‘And you’re not one for words,’ Serena says.

Bernie looks at her, her brows knitted, but Serena just smiles and strokes her hair.

‘Not judging, darling,’ she soothes. ‘The past few days have been a little confusing, but I understand now.’

‘It wasn’t about not wanting you. More like wanting you too much,’ Bernie says a little ruefully. ‘Too much to process.’

Serena kisses her again, just a light brush of their lips, then rests her forehead against Bernie’s. ‘Do you have plans for the Hogswatch break?’

Bernie shakes her head.

‘Maybe we could spend some time processing together?’ Serena suggests.

‘I’d like that very much,’ Bernie smiles, nuzzling her nose against Serena’s. ‘Very much indeed.’

*          *          *

When Bernie walks into the dining hall for a late Hogswatch Eve breakfast Serena is already there, mug of coffee in one hand as she talks to Ric. As soon as Bernie steps over the threshold Serena looks at her, almost as if she sensed her presence, and her smile is so wide and her eyes so bright that Bernie’s heart swells and she has to stand still for a moment. And then Serena raises her eyebrows in question and Bernie finds she can move again, strides to her usual seat and, as she sits down, brushes her hand against Serena’s arm.

Serena is pouring coffee for her; when she passes the steaming mug over Bernie traps her fingers against the china, holds them there as Serena meets her eye, only lets go and looks away with reluctance when Raf sits on her other side and asks for the jam.

It might be the Hogswatch break, and Hogswatch Eve at that, but the lack of lessons doesn’t mean they have a free day. Not all of the students are staying at the Guild over the holiday but most of those from other cities and kingdoms are, along with quite a few of the older students from Ankh-Morpork, and Bernie promised to organise some festive games for them this afternoon, a promise she’s coming to regret now. And then, of course, there’s the Hogswatch Ball tonight, attended by Guild Members and nobility from across the city as well as the Tutors and older students.

This morning, though. This morning they have a meeting with Hanssen to debrief and then nothing, and the temperature drop overnight has made coffee while curled under a blanket in front of Serena’s fire look even more attractive.

But of course, it’s not to be. They report to Hanssen, who congratulates them on a job well done and welcomes Bernie back to active inhumations, tells her she’s now reinstated on the list of Assassins available to undertake contracts. Bernie smiles at this, meets Serena’s eye and smiles wider at Serena’s smile, longs to reach for her and knows Serena wants the same by the way her hand rises and hovers between them for a moment before settling on her pendant.

And then, just as they’re both standing to leave, ready to head to the office and complete the necessary post-inhumation paperwork, Hanssen stops them. ‘Ms McKinnie, if I might have a word?’

‘Of course,’ Serena smiles. Her fingers brush Bernie’s arm and she flashes her an apologetic smile.

‘I look forward to seeing what you have planned for our students this afternoon, Ms Wolfe,’ Hanssen says to her.

‘You’re most welcome to join us, sir,’ Bernie offers, mostly teasing.

‘I might just take you up on that, Ms Wolfe,’ he says with a smile. ‘It’s far too long since I’ve been up on our rooftops.’

Bernie takes this as her cue to leave, throws one last look at Serena before stepping out into the corridor. Serena watches her go, gaze tracing the line of her back, caressing her slender waist, and then turns her attention to Hanssen.

‘You’re really going to scale the walls with our students?’ she asks, mildly incredulous.

‘You don’t think I can?’ he asks, eyebrows raised.

‘Oh no, I think you _can_ ,’ Serena replies. ‘I’m just having a hard time believing that you _will_.’

‘Perhaps I’ll surprise you this afternoon. Now, I wanted to discuss the future with you.’

‘That sounds ominous.’

‘Not at all, I assure you. I merely wondered if you would also be interested in being added to our list of available Assassins?’

‘You want me to take more contracts?’

‘Only if you wish to. Your decision has no bearing on your teaching position at the Guild, and if you are not interested then consider the matter closed, but after last night’s success I wanted to give you the option.’

‘Can I think about it?’

‘Of course,’ Hanssen smiles.

‘Was there anything else, Henrik?’

‘Your thoughts on Ms Wolfe?’

Serena fights to keep the smile from her face. ‘I think she’s doing very well. The students like her, and she seems to fit in well. An excellent choice.’

Hanssen inclines his head in agreement. Serena wonders just how much he knows about what’s been growing between them, knows they’ve been discreet but also knows there’s very little that goes on within the confines of the Guild that Hanssen isn’t aware of.

‘Don’t let me keep you any longer, Ms McKinnie. I’m sure you have things you wish to accomplish before tonight’s ball.’

By the time Serena has filled in her contract completion forms and accepted the congratulations of what seems like every person in the office it’s almost lunch, and she feels a pang at the loss of their morning together. She can’t even enjoy lunch beside Bernie because Bernie has, apparently, already snatched a pile of sandwiches and headed outside to prepare for the afternoon’s amusements. She tries not to huff her disappointment as she sits down, clearly doesn’t quite manage it if Ric’s questioning look is anything to go by.

The building empties quickly in the afternoon, even those students who don’t enjoy swarming up walls and dangling from one hand wrapping up and going outside to watch their peers. Serena takes advantage of the quiet to tidy her classroom, to mark the last few sixth year essays, to check she has everything ready for the start of next term so she doesn’t have to do it over the break when she could be spending the time far more pleasurably with Bernie instead.

_Bernie._

Her attention drifts away from the page in front of her, her gaze resting on the window. She can’t see the courtyard or rooftops from here, can’t catch even a glimpse of her. Serena sets her pen down decisively: her lesson plans are all meticulous, she knows she’s prepared. A quick trip up to her quarters for her cloak and gloves and Serena heads outside. She hovers behind a group of students and looks up at the roof; her eyes instantly seek out Bernie and before she realises it she’s plotting a route up to her, jogs back inside to her quarters and slips out of the window, climbs up past Bernie’s rooms and pulls herself onto the roof.

‘Lovely day for it,’ she calls as she strides along the ridge towards her.

Bernie spins around on the tiles in surprise. ‘Serena! What are you doing?’

‘Couldn’t let you have all the fun now, could I? And I certainly couldn’t miss the rare as hen’s teeth chance of seeing our esteemed President out from behind his desk. If you don’t mind me joining you, of course?’

‘How could I?’ Bernie smiles, her face softening.

So they spend the rest of the afternoon out in the cold, watch the students playing Bernie’s games, watch Raf and Ric and, to everyone else’s surprise, Hanssen race each other up the courtyard walls and around the rooftops. Finally, as the light fades, they’re persuaded to go head to head and do the same, Raven House cheering their Mistress on as she trails in Bernie’s wake; her recent foray back into action is far from enough to make her any match for the Guild’s ex-edificeering champion, however many decades ago that might have been.

‘Don’t think I don’t know you slowed down,’ she mutters, breathless, when they stand side by side, Bernie having made it to the bell tower only seconds before her.

‘I admit to nothing,’ Bernie grins, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glittering and her hair blowing around her head. It’s all Serena can do to remember the eyes of students and colleagues on them, to not take just one more step forward and draw Bernie into her arms, to press their lips together and hold her tight.

‘Later,’ Bernie murmurs, her voice full of promise.

Serena looks at her, sees the same longing she feels etched on Bernie’s face. ‘Later,’ she echoes, and Bernie holds her gaze and nods.

*

Serena steps into the hall fashionably late, her gaze sweeping the sea of black in search of Bernie.

‘I wouldn’t stand there for too long if I were you,’ Ric says at her shoulder.

Serena turns to him and takes the glass of champagne he holds out, then follows his gaze upwards and rolls her eyes at the sprig of mistletoe above their heads.

‘I haven’t had anywhere near enough to drink for that.’

‘Later, then,’ Ric teases. He shifts a little closer, nods towards the far end of the room and murmurs in her ear, ‘I think maybe you should focus your attention in that direction.’

Serena doesn’t even notice him melt away into the crowd. She wonders how she could possibly have missed her, stood talking to two men of around their age who she guesses Bernie was a student with. Forgetting all about Ric’s warning she sips her champagne and watches Bernie, until she senses someone else beside her. It’s Raf who, with raised eyebrows, looks up at the mistletoe and then at her.

‘No,’ she says firmly.

‘But it’s tradition, Ms McKinnie,’ Morven protests.

‘Oh, very well then,’ Serena sighs, and allows Raf to kiss her cheek, her own lips brushing his in return.

‘Happy Hogswatch, Serena,’ he murmurs.

‘Happy Hogswatch,’ she replies.

As he walks into the room she catches sight of Bernie, gazing longingly at her. Serena offers her a smile and then moves from under the mistletoe and begins her circuit of the room. All she really wants to do is walk directly to Bernie and spend the entire night with her but Serena knows what’s expected of them all, knows she’s expected to flirt and charm her way around the wealthy guests to draw donations from them. It isn’t usually much of a hardship and she tends to bring in more money than her fellow Tutors, but this year she finds herself distracted, finds focusing on even the more interesting attendees and the ones she knows from previous events a challenge. Especially as whoever was in charge of the decorations has gone rather overboard with the mistletoe and, however careful she thinks she’s being, she keeps finding herself stood underneath it.

It’s something of a relief when, what feels like hours later, she excuses herself from one knot of conversation and turns around to find Ric standing there, a fresh glass of champagne in each hand.

‘I hope one of those is for me.’

‘Would I tempt you so cruelly?’ he grins, passing one over. ‘How did you find Mr Wood?’

‘As unpleasant as ever,’ Serena shudders. ‘But still not immune to my allure.’

‘Are any of us?’

‘Charmer,’ Serena scolds, smiling. ‘Goodness, it feels like it’s been a long night already,’ she sighs, rolling her neck to work out the kinks. She opens her eyes, looking up at the ceiling, and groans. ‘Is that stuff following me around?’

Ric looks up too, and smiles. ‘Caught under the mistletoe with me again, McKinnie? Surely you’ve had enough to drink by now.’

‘Lucky for you I haven’t already used up my supply – of kisses or patience,’ she says, pressing her lips to his cheek. ‘Happy Hogswatch, Ric.’

‘And to you,’ he smiles. ‘Better get back to it, I suppose,’ he sighs, taking a healthy sip from his glass.

‘Spoilsport,’ Serena mutters. But then Ric takes a step to one side, and her face lights up.

‘Safety at last,’ Bernie sighs, joining them.

‘Must be my lucky night indeed,’ Ric quips.

Bernie frowns, then follows his glance up to the mistletoe.

‘Happy Hogswatch, Ms Wolfe,’ he smiles, brushing a kiss to her cheek. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, ladies, I can sense Hanssen’s eyes urging me back to work.’

‘I was beginning to think I’d never get to speak to you,’ Serena says when he’s gone, keeping both hands firmly to herself as her eyes take in the perfectly fitting black silk shirt and trousers Bernie’s wearing, the tidier than usual curls in her hair.

‘Likewise,’ Bernie replies. ‘I see you’re adhering to the all-black rule for once.’

‘Do you approve, Ms Wolfe?’ Serena asks, playfully twirling around so her gown swirls about her legs, the pointed toes of her heels just visible beneath the layers of silk.

‘I do,’ Bernie replies, her voice low and rough, her eyes tracing the intricate, shimmering embroidery on the bodice, taking in the delicate silver drops hanging from her ears and the blood red of her lips and nails, perfectly manicured after last night’s climbing. ‘You look wonderful, Serena.’

‘So do you,’ Serena smiles, allowing herself to reach out and trail her fingers along Bernie’s arm. ‘I wish we could just slip away, but I think our absence would be noticed. Particularly as I’m only two thirds of the way around the room.’

‘Sadly I think you’re probably right,’ Bernie agrees. ‘You know, you’ve cropped up in almost every conversation I’ve had so far.’

‘I have?’

Bernie laughs at Serena’s surprise. ‘It seems you’re quite the favourite among the Members and Ankh’s upper class. Not that it’s any wonder – I can’t imagine Ric charming their cash away from their bank accounts in quite the same way as you.’

‘Political expediency and diplomacy do have their uses,’ Serena quips.

‘There is that, I suppose,’ Bernie says, her voice dropping and her eyes darkening, flicking from Serena’s eyes to her lips, dipping down to the pendant hanging between her collarbones and then further to bodice of her dress, before rising to meet her gaze again.

Serena blushes. ‘None of them look at me quite like that, though,’ she says, so softly Bernie can barely hear her over the noise around them.

And then she remembers what they’re standing beneath and realises there is _something_ she can do here and now, something that doesn’t have to wait until they’re alone. Serena takes a step closer, cups Bernie’s jaw and draws her in so she can kiss her cheek; she lingers far longer than she has with anyone else, makes sure to catch the edge of Bernie’s mouth and has to force herself to pull away.

‘Mistletoe,’ she says in breathless explanation when Bernie frowns.

‘Tease,’ Bernie almost whines, her eyes wide and dark.

‘Think of it as a promise,’ Serena says, very deliberately brushing against Bernie as she moves towards the next knot of guests.

‘I’ll hold you to that,’ Bernie murmurs, fingers catching the bare skin of Serena’s arm before she’s out of reach.

*

It’s late by the time Serena makes it the rest of the way around the hall. She feels like she’s spoken to every single person here, knows her throat will be sore and her voice hoarse tomorrow. And her feet are protesting too, after being spun around the dance floor plenty of times; at least Assassins can all dance, though, and most of the other guests were Guild-educated too so she hasn’t been stepped on, not even once. Now she searches for Bernie, the one Assassin she’s been desperate to dance with all night, whose arms she’s been desperate to be in.

There’s no sign of her and Serena frowns, until she spots the familiar blonde hair and sees her lingering in one of the doorways. Bernie smiles when she catches Serena’s eye and tilts her head in the direction of the courtyard, waits for Serena to nod her understanding before slipping away.

It takes Serena a little while to wend her way out of the room. The main doors to the courtyard are standing wide open as one of their guests leaves and Serena can feel the chill, can see the fat flakes of snow falling and settling on the ground. She shivers, hesitates for a moment and then turns away and heads up to her quarters. She stays only long enough to change her heels for boots and to wrap a fur stole around her bare shoulders, considers leaving via the window but decides against it for the sake of her gown and instead retraces her steps, passing the door to the ballroom as quickly as she can so as not to be spotted and called back into a conversation she has no wish to be part of.

It can’t have been snowing long: there’s only a fine layer covering the courtyard paving, and she can still see the clear trace of footprints that look the right size to be Bernie’s. She follows them, but they stop abruptly in one corner – one _empty_ corner. Serena rolls her eyes and grumbles to herself, then looks up and plots her route up the wall. Her gown makes climbing awkward, and she’s doubly glad she changed her shoes otherwise she’d be doing this in her stockings and freezing her toes off.

She hauls herself over the guttering and onto the tiles, muttering a curse on enthusiastic edificeering Assassins as she all but crawls up to the ridge, hoping to Io that Bernie isn’t watching this display of uncharacteristic inelegance. Back on her feet again, she brushes the snow from her skirt and looks around her. Bernie is lounging against one of the chimneystacks, staring across the city, the wind whipping her snow-dusted hair around her face.

‘You couldn’t have met me on the ground, like a normal person?’ Serena asks as she approaches.

‘Where would be the fun in that?’ Bernie smiles, turning to her.

‘You try climbing in this,’ Serena points out, gesturing to her gown.

‘You made it, didn’t you?’

‘Well, I had good motivation,’ Serena smiles, reaching for Bernie’s hand and finding it even colder than her own.

‘I didn’t expect to find this when I came back to the Guild,’ Bernie says, drawing Serena closer.

‘This?’ Serena asks, one eyebrow raised.

‘You,’ Bernie says, stroking her face. ‘A woman of beauty, grace, skill, intelligence – and one who likes me.’

‘More than likes you,’ Serena corrects her, tangling the fingers of her free hand in Bernie’s hair. She wishes there was more light up here, wishes she could see Bernie’s face properly, her eyes.

‘I more than like you too,’ Bernie says quietly.

The first bells begin to ring out midnight across the city, and in a series of whizzes and bangs a fortune’s worth of Badger and Normal’s fireworks flare up in coloured sparks and bursts and flowers, lighting up the sky, accompanied by whoops and cheers and drunken singing from every neighbourhood.

‘Happy Hogswatch, darling,’ Serena murmurs.

‘Happy Hogswatch,’ Bernie replies.

The snow begins to fall harder, spiralling around them as it’s caught by the wind. Bernie draws Serena even closer until they’re pressed together and, sheltered by the chimneystack, they cling to each other and kiss, their lips like fire in the freezing air. They’re still kissing long after the Inhumation Bell finishes its fashionably late peal, long after the final reverberations fall silent, long after the last fireworks have faded from the sky.


End file.
